


The notebook

by AkaiBaraPark



Series: Torn pages [4]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Letters, Pain, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21774487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkaiBaraPark/pseuds/AkaiBaraPark
Summary: Torn pages, scribbles and crossed out sentences.His mind was as messy as his notes. He needed a break.
Series: Torn pages [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796137
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	The notebook

**Author's Note:**

> Please enjoy.

There's different steps when you feel depressed. Different cases and ways of reacting to the feeling of not being enough, not wanting to be there in anyway, shape or form.  
You can be sad.  
You can be numb.  
You can still smile.  
Or you can cry.  
It all depends on how you react to your emotions. It all depends on the idea of just feeling blue, or being depressed. 

Today he got this urge to go out on a whim, as usual, taking his phone, his backpack and the coins he still had.  
He treated himself. Bought an album of his favorite group using a coupon he had found around in his wallet. Bought himself some food and ate it alone. He even decided to give some of it to someone in dire need of comfort. He felt ok all day. Got to meet his best friend and make plans for the next days to come. 

When he got home however. The whole mood was off. Parents, his oh so negative parents, were complaining. He didn't even try to smile cause he knew it would fall right away.  
Small talk. And to his room he secluded himself.  
The usual. 

They fought. He distracted himself like he could, listening to music, watching videos.  
But he couldn't stay focused on anything. Lately it was hard just focusing on listening to his friends. He didn't know why really. He just listened half of the conversation and then started daydreaming.  
He knew he was being a bad friend. But even if he tried he just didn't know how to focus anymore. 

He laid in his bed at night. Lights off. Reading on his phone. It was the only thing he could do all the way. Read chapters after chapters of a story. Trying to live through the character. 

He felt numb most of the time.  
And he got used to it. To keep silent at home. To eat alone since childhood. To do as he was told. To be obedient and kind. To be a toy in a way.  
Some had it worse. He was only brought down by negativity, he didn't want any of it but everything was forced down his throat and he just took it.  
Accepted it.  
The idea that he would never make a difference. That you need to let go of your dreams because they're unrealistic and because he was untalented. 

As he read through page, the numbness started to morph into sadness. He didn't want to start crying. But he did. He shut down his phone and tried to keep his breathing under control and his tears at bay. It was painful and exhausting. Never seeing the good in anything anymore.  
He started to regret treating himself in the day. He wanted to cancel all his plans for the next days.  
He wanted to go to the roof of the building he was living in, and jump from it.  
He wanted to die again and he hated the fact that his numbness decided to go away to just give him a new shovel to dig down. 

Lights on, he started writing.  
Eyes tired because of his lack of sleep.  
The clock ticking for 3AM to come around.  
Wind and Rain screaming outside, beckoning him to go out and set his spirit free.  
But he stayed in bed writing.  
Another letter that would go unnoticed by most. 

He wrote and wrote till it came to a stop, his hand hurting from how hard he gripped his pen. His notebook was full of scribbles, crossed out sentences and torn pages. He thought it was as messy as his mind. As himself. He felt a new pang of pain in his core and decided to start on a new page of the journal. A clean one.  
He did tore it out of his diary, and wrote again. Mind at peace with each and every word he wrote.  
He folded the paper neatly, and left it on his bedside table. He made his decision. 

Maybe he had stuff to care for. Maybe he needed to treat his friends.  
Then maybe, he'll find the courage to rest forever.

**Author's Note:**

> See you next time.  
> At this rate I should make this into a serie...


End file.
